


the venom of the north wind

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [34]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 11:01:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6421165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine Claire and Jamie canoodling at dinner and Laoghaire seeing them as she works as one of Mrs. Fitz's maidens. Perhaps she catches them in an amorous moment as they head back to their room as well? I would love to see Claire rub it in her face!</p>
            </blockquote>





	the venom of the north wind

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](http://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/140861766914/imagine-claire-and-jamie-canoodling-at-dinner-and) on tumblr

Laoghaire angrily swept the edge of the knife across the side of the carrot.

 

That Sassenach bitch had slapped her. Mairi the maid had seen it, and told all the other serving lasses. Her cheeks still flamed from the strike – and the embarrassment. She *had* to have bewitched puir Jamie – there was no way he could go from being her…acquaintance to being her husband in such a short time! And now that the ill wish hadn’t worked…

 

“Stop that, lass! Or else we won’t have any carrots to serve His Lordship tonight!” Grannie’s voice boomed from somewhere near Laoghaire’s elbow, and she startled, dropping the knife to the battered wooden table.

 

“Are ye all right?” Grannie gently took her by the shoulder and eased her back, forcing her to look down and meet her worried eyes. “Is this about young Jamie and his wife again? The barn door has shut on that one, dear. It’s foolish to pursue him. Or punish her.”

 

Laoghaire pursed her lips. Her stomach churned at the thought of the Englishwoman. The witch. “Grannie – ”

 

Grannie’s fingers dug sharply into her shoulder – surprisingly strong. “No,” she repeated. “It’s wrong to pursue a marrit man.”

 

Laoghaire’s eyes darted across the table – where Mairi, kneading dough for bread rolls, was watching in frank interest.

 

“Aye,” she sighed, eyes downcast. “But it isna decent – ye saw them in the Hall last night, Grannie – she was almost sitting on his lap! And those dark marks on her neck – ”

 

“Are no business of yours! Stop looking! And go fetch some more carrots as ye’ve worn these puir things down to sticks!”

 

Laoghaire sighed and turned on her heel, flouncing out of the kitchen and toward the supply room further down the hall. Fuming.

 

It should have been her, sitting beside Jamie last night. He would rescue her from life as a serving girl, slaving away in these damned kitchens, fighting off the grimy hands of the MacKenzie tacksmen when they wanted bread or ale or meat…

 

So absorbed in her thoughts as she rounded the corner, she didn’t catch the movement in the dark alcove until it was too late.

 

The witch’s deep green dress. Her dark brown curls – luxuriant and indecent, lacking the cap or kerch a proper marrit woman would wear. Jamie’s big hand threaded through those curls. And his deep, throaty laugh as he kissed her.

 

Laoghaire was struck dumb. She stood rooted to the spot, like – oh, who was that woman in the Bible? Father Bain had told the story so many times…

 

Then they shifted, and Laoghaire saw a long, white expanse of thigh – and Claire’s arm somewhere up Jamie’s kilt.

 

She wanted to vomit. But quickly – and loudly – stepped past them, stormed into the store room, retrieved an armful of carrots, and sharply turned on her heel, almost running back to the corridor.

 

They were still in the alcove. But this time, they were waiting for her.

 

Claire said nothing as Laoghaire passed. Jamie pushed Claire behind him slightly, protecting her. Laoghaire watched Claire’s hand twine possessively around Jamie’s neck.

 

“Good e’en,” he said conversationally.

 

She would have gaped, but remembered her grandmother. So she fled, silently.

 

*Something* had to be done about that witch. Perhaps Mistress Duncan would have an idea…


End file.
